


bad end

by Wagandea



Category: Zero Escape (Video Games)
Genre: Canon Alternate Timeline, Dark, M/M, Not VLR and ZTD Compliant, Post-999
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 16:13:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12485624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wagandea/pseuds/Wagandea
Summary: Junpei's having trouble making sense of these conflicting timelines, but hey, at least Ace is here. Then, on second thought, Ace might be the whole problem.





	bad end

It’s in the cabins on [D deck], in the room with the [5] on the door, colored briefcases and key cards strewn about, the floor water damaged but dry, that Junpei finds him.

The barebones bunk creaks under Junpei’s weight when he sits down and he wonders, distantly, how the rusty metal of the opposite bed is even bearing Ace’s weight. He stretches his legs out. Their shoes almost brush on the floor. Ace’s eyes are dark and calm, but his gaze never meets Junpei’s. He never liked to look any of them in the eye, the prosopagnosia maybe. It’s a realistic touch to the hallucination, at least.

“You’re not real.” Junpei’s voice is deadpan and harsh, echoes in the small space.

“Oh?” Ace quirks a pointed brow. His hair brushes the bottom of the bunk above him. Junpei feels like he should be going _through_ the furniture instead. He sounds… amused. Junpei had only heard him amused once, [Door 1], the awful jokes… before he knew. It’s so far away now. What a funny thing to be imagining.

And then Ace holds out one arm, fingers outstretched, palm up. No bracelet in sight. “Touch me, then.”

Junpei does. Ace’s fingers slide between his like [the handle of a knife], [the grip of a gun]. Something undeniably dangerous that still feels like it _belongs_ in his hands.

His skin is warm.

“Do I feel real to you?” Ace is still amused. Junpei closes his eyes. Of _all_ of them, it has to be him.

“I don’t know.” Because Akane had felt real, too, even in the timelines she _couldn’t_ be. Ace is in prison or Ace is ash ground into the incinerator floor. Sometimes, Junpei isn’t sure what timeline he’s living in, anymore. Which choices, which doors? They sit on the beds for a long time, but when Junpei stands up to go to the door (unlocked this time, but still with the [5] splattered red over the metal), Ace’s eyes follow him. He can almost feel the [knife] sliding between his shoulderblades, can almost feel the water in his lungs. Somehow, that doesn't strike him as important until much later.

 

\--

 

There’s no sense to what he’s doing, retracing his steps like this, fingertips dragging across the wall paneling. Not enough dust comes up on his fingers. He thinks these are his steps that he’s retracing. Ace’s shoes are too loud on the floors, slow and uneven, the gait of a man who favors a cane. Junpei doesn’t even have it in him to make a joke about the old man. He just stops in front of the first set of [numbered doors], and lets Ace watch him. This should be unnerving, but being alone _here_ would be even moreso.

He stands in front of the [numbered doors] for a long time. It occurs to Junpei, with the [REDs] deactivated and blank, Zero long gone and the final [Nonary Game] complete, that there may be no way for them to _open_ the doors.

And then Ace is in front of him, footsteps too solid to be real, asking “and which way are we going?” like he’s only entertaining the possibility of a choice. Ace should know better, or, this recreation of Ace Junpei has created. Especially then.

“Do the--the one you went through.”

He doesn’t know which door it’s going to be until Ace reaches for it. Maybe that’s why he’s here, playing guide while Junpei’s timelines are all muddled up. Why is  _Ace_ what he's dreaming up?

[Door 4] opens easily for Ace, and Junpei feels his blood run cold. They never went through these doors together. Junpei’s starting to put it together now, what timeline they’re living in. There’s no clear path to the future from here. Zero always loses.

He’s still not sure if that’s a bad thing.

 

\--

 

He’s thinking of the safe when he sinks onto the double bed in the second class cabins. The ache runs more than bone deep, [lungs heavy], [joints waterlogged]. Junpei understands how Ace felt in the hospital room (“ _Just a little rest--_ ”) even if it was an act, understands how he felt in the hospital room when they were all still pretending to be on even footing and Ace was demonstrating a compelling example of martyrdom.

“So,” he says, grimacing, shaky fingers splayed out on his knees, “did you _like_ playing hero, or…?” It’s an honest question, if one laced with an unprecedented amount of vitriol. Ace studies him from the doorway but he’s--not looking at Junpei’s face, and somewhere since the ghost materialized on [D Deck] it’s started to _bother_ him in ways it shouldn’t.

Something prickles under his skin. Ace’s eyes are a lighter brown than Junpei remembers. The floor looks appealing, but Junpei doesn’t _just happen_ to have an anesthetic on him, isn’t as prepared as Ace and never was.

“Whether I enjoyed it or not isn’t the point. You, of all people, should know that.” Curiosity. That’s curiosity, Ace is fixing him with. Ace leans against the doorframe. Junpei is very tired. “Did it work?”

Something hot flares up over the back of his neck. Junpei ducks his head. “Yeah,” he says on a disappointed exhale. “It did.”

 

\--

 

Here’s the thing. Having Ace around, before they knew, it was comforting. Besides Lotus and Seven, they were all just a bunch of scared kids, fumbling around in the dark, trying to save their own skins. Maybe it was just Junpei. In retrospect, things like sides, motives, they’re unclear, bleeding through from timeline to timeline.

Ace’s presence isn’t as comforting, Junpei isn’t as ignorant, but maybe he likes it better _for_ that. Being with Ace isn’t like being alone with his thoughts (even if, really, that’s all this is), but it’s also not like being with _the others_ either.

He has a hard time being alone with Akane these days. Or is that another timeline? Junpei stands in front of [Door 3], but Ace hangs back, hands in his pockets, face drawn, looking at anything but the door.

“Well?” Ace sounds as bad as he looks. It’s not just the hospital room. “Are you going through?”

Nijisaki, Junpei registers distantly. It’s because of Nijisaki. Interesting, the things that are just occurring to him now. He shrugs. “Sorry. Guess you don’t want to see him?” And maybe that’s a little cruel, but it’s not Junpei’s first act of cruelty owed to [this game], and it’s not going to be the last.

Ace’s expression is impenetrable. “I expect that room is cleaned up by now.” His voice is dry and shaky. Junpei exhales, remorseless.

“So what was he to you anyway?” Because it’s obvious now this isn’t just because the body behind [Door 3] was his right hand man. There’s no apology, no _if it’s alright to ask_.

“For a while,” Ace speaks low and soft and painful, “he was everything.” And all Junpei can do is stare, mouth hanging slightly open. There’s a lot of weight to that word, _everything_. He doesn’t push further. Behind [Door 3], Ace refuses to enter the [shower room], and Junpei glosses over it too, peeks his head around the divider just long enough to see clean tile and a distinct lack of blood. Part of Junpei is expecting another ghost to manifest, another of Akane’s captors to join the party. Ultimately, he’s glad it’s still _just_ Ace.

 

\--

 

There’s this thing, about going through [Door 3]. A couple paths converge at this point, but somehow the result is still foggy to Junpei, despite having lived through this timeline, having lived (or died) through _all_ of them.

A couple paths converge at [Door 3], but the thing Junpei is certain of is that there’s only _one_ possible result here. [Doors 1 and 6] are somehow out of reach. He stands in front of [Door 2] and bites the inside of his cheek until he hears Ace shift behind him.

“We’ve taken the wrong doors,” Junpei says, matter of factly, and Ace makes a little tch sound with his tongue. “No, I’m serious. This set of doors I went through with you, right? [1] or [6]. It _has_ to be one of those two. Because if it isn’t, I’m...”

“Dead?” Ace suggests, when Junpei can’t find the word himself. He says it so nonchalantly, and when Junpei turns around to look at him, Ace is rubbing his left wrist where the [bracelet] would have sat. “Someone always dies in these games, Junpei.”

His stomach lurches when he realizes Ace’s tone isn’t patronizing, but sympathizing. He hates how human he is, how human his brain has made the apparition. Ace was a _monster_. Everything is wrong. These aren’t the things he should be imagining. But then Ace puts his broad hand on Junpei’s back to lead him through the door, and Junpei is glad for the contact and the push, even if he can feel the prickle of a phantom blade between his shoulderblades.

 

\--

 

“Here’s what I don’t understand,” Junpei says, sinking down onto the barebones bed in the [containment room] where Seven had told them about [Cradle Pharmaceutical], “ _why_ the [Nonary Game]? Didn’t [Gordain] die like… ages ago, before you or even your parents were born? So… how did you find out about it? Did you find documents or something, after you bought the [Gigantic]?”

Ace gives him a very strange look, drawn and almost a little pained. “What makes you think the Nonary Game died with Gordain? Who’s to say it didn’t continue for _decades_ after, [successor to successor]?”

Junpei, too wrapped up in the questions presented by this new information, doesn’t stop to wonder _why_ this knowledge was in his subconscious, or if he’s just imagining the whole thing. This bed creaks even more than the one in [D Deck] when Ace sinks down onto it, next to him, their thighs brushing. “You were the only _successor_ after him.” It’s flat, unaccusatory. Ace runs a hand through his mane.

“Not quite.” He’s _bitter_ , he sounds bitter. Ace won’t look at him. Ace won’t ever look at him. “In 1993, Hongou Gentarou was kidnapped by Gordain’s last successor, as a participant in [one of the last Nonary Games].” Junpei never came across this information, never asked Ace these questions.

“Oh,” is all he can say, stunned into silence. Even his mind, which has been buzzing around with the contents of five or more parallel timelines since this thing _started_ , is quiet. “I’m sorry.” Because what _else_ are you supposed to say to that? He lets it sit, then takes Ace’s lack of speech as an invitation to prod further, albeit tentatively. “1993… how old were you?”

“Sixteen,” Ace answers matter-of-factly, and stares down at his empty hands. He’s having a conversation with Junpei, but it just sounds like he’s talking to himself. In a way, Junpei supoosed he is. “I can say with certainty it left a lasting impression on me.” And Junpei suddenly finds himself not wanting to know more. He does have one more question, though.

“Ace...” The man looks up, finally looks at him, barely contained anguish written into the hard lines of his face. Junpei’s struck a nerve. He keeps doing it. Keeps feeling _bad_ about it too, in this fucked up way. Because… because if Ace was put through a Nonary Game too, there’s a common ground that shouldn’t be there, a way to empathize and make sense of who he is and what he did. It feels like figuring out Akane all over again. Junpei loved Akane when they were children, and he liked Ace before everything went to shit. He wonders if he’s forever destined to be the monster’s keeper. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because,” he says slowly, exhausted, “I killed the only friend I had left, and besides--what does it matter? A dead man can’t tell secrets.” He isn’t sure which one of them Ace is talking about, but he has a sneaking suspicion it might be him. It’s starting to all come together, why Ace is here, and Junpei doesn’t know why he _does_ it, except that they’re alone except for each other and Junpei’s type is _psychotic_ apparently, but he…

He kisses him. And Ace’s skin is warm and he’s solid under Junpei’s hands when he reaches up to cup his jaw the way he might kiss Akane. But this _isn’t_ Akane, and Ace isn’t so receptive. He doesn’t move at all, actually, until Junpei pulls back feeling _stupid_ and ashamed. Ace looks at him like he’s looking _through_ him, trying to focus on something that isn’t really there. His hands hover over Junpei’s shoulders, not quite touching.

There’s a rush of blood through Junpei’s ears, his face flushes, and he can’t stop thinking _stupid, stupid, what are you doing--_

Then, Ace licks his lips and says, slow and deliberate, contemplative rather than hungry, “I didn’t know it was _that_ kind of dream.” Dream might not be the right word.

“Neither did I,” Junpei says weakly, and his mouth is dry but kissing Ace again feels inexplicably like [drowning]. Like his lungs are filling up with water and all he can do is sink further into this mess he’s made.

 

\--

 

There are two men in building Q but one of them isn’t a man at all, one man and one _apparition_ , something transient and supernatural, the remnants of whatever timelines went right. Ace is sleeping with ghosts, or Junpei is. Does it even matter? Junpei’s still trying to figure that out. He sits on that shitty bed in the [containment room] and stares at the grimy ceiling with his hands fisted in Ace’s hair and thinks, _a ghost shouldn’t be this warm_ , and then, that if he isn’t already dead Ace’s mouth is going to kill him anyway.

 

\--

 

He doesn’t see the [knife] in Ace’s coat pocket when Ace moves to put it back on, but he sees the imprint of where it should be, an image from another timeline superimposed over this one. Maybe that’s the point at which he realizes, watching the _very real_ Ace in front of him put his clothes back on. He was the ghost all along, a phantom of Ace’s final victim.

“I suppose you’ll want to finish retracing our steps,” Ace says dryly, like nothing at all just happened. “What is it, the [torture room] next? Then back to the [central staircase]?” He knew all along. Ace knew all along. Junpei’s only just put it all together. His head is still a mess. The safe, the coffin, Clover dead in the bathroom. The incinerator. _Truth had gone, truth had gone, and--_

“Actually,” Junpei says, sounds more confident than he feels, “I figured we could skip straight to the [submarine room].”

Ace studies him for a long time in the dim light of that room. “Smart boy,” he says softly, and Junpei shouldn’t take it as praise, but he does. His chest swells traitorously. His heart aches, but so does that inch of space right between his shoulderblades. He’ll almost swear he can see Ace smile when he turns to the door.


End file.
